


Dark Shadows

by AliceMontrose



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Dubious Consent, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMontrose/pseuds/AliceMontrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The famous Roman Imperator Iulius Caesar asks a blood-drinker to assassinate an enemy general. But how much will that cost him? (AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be part of a longer AU story...
> 
> Completed: November 8, 2002

Caius Iulius Caesar, conqueror of Gaul, gathered the folds of his red wool cloak around him; in spite of Syria being a warm province, a sudden chill had possessed his body. 

Located on the western coast of the Mediterranean Sea, Syria was one of the border provinces between the Roman Empire and the vast lands of Asia, a gateway to the riches of the east. Caesar was pursuing the dream of a lifetime: Persia. By conquering this barbarian kingdom, he would be as great as Alexander. 

But while his legions were enjoying the local hospitality, he was not at all happy. For he was faced with one major problem – the great Persian army, and especially its military leader, General Atarx. The man was just as much a bright strategist as Caesar himself, and had the advantage of fighting on known territory. Caesar had faced worse, he knew; but he had been younger then, and old age had made him unsure of the final outcome of this final battle. 

He had decided that the only way out of this, without risking everything, was to get rid of the man quietly. The problem with that plan was that there was no way for an assassin to get anywhere near the Persian without risking exposure. 

He wrapped his arms around himself. The main room in the temple of Iupiter was getting colder, and he did not want to be there. He was tired of waiting. 

It had been four days since his message had been sent, a scroll written and wrapped after precise instructions which would allow it to reach the right persons. Four sleepless nights spent in the temple, waiting for a sign from the one he had asked for help and guidance. He had repeated the words like a prayer, yet no one had come to answer them. He was not even sure if the creature had not been just a creation of his thirty-two year-old mind. 

He took a few reluctant steps towards the exit, but he was halted by a voice as chill as the night and as silent as the wind that echoed in his ears. "Where to so hastily, Caius Iulius Caesar?" 

The voice sent shivers down his spine; turning he faced the source, a slim figure in the shadows of the temple's columns. He should have heard footsteps, sensed a presence – he had not. For once, he was genuinely afraid. As far as he knew, these creatures did not do polite conversation frequently. 

There was silent laughter, as if it had read his thoughts. The figure stepped forward gracefully, until it stood only a few paces away from the Roman. The General took a step back as if bitten, but movement in the shadows around them let him know they were not alone. He distinguished a few other figures in the darkness, keeping away from the torchlight. 

The creature standing in front of him spoke again. "Why are you thinking of escape? We have no intention to harm you." The others' laughter echoed in the large marble space all around them. 

Caesar's voice shivered as he replied, part anger... and part fear. "Who are you? What do you want from me?" 

"We are those you have summoned, General. And I believe it is you who wants something from us." 

A slender hand came up through the thick folds of the black cloak, fingernails glowing a dark colour as the creature removed the hood of its cloak. Then he looked up at the taller man, a wicked grin crossing his blood-red lips. The milky-white skin glowed faintly in the dim light, and the dark eyes shone discretely, holding much more knowledge than one would attribute to such a youthful face. 

The Roman sighed in relief, even if he knew safety was illusory. He also realized that, in spite of the three decades that had passed since their last encounter, the youth's features had not changed at all. 

He laughed at his stupidity. This was by no means a young man, and certainly not human. A blood-drinker, he reminded himself; a dangerous predator. 

The Dark Prince of Antioch smiled again, and waited for his petitioner to speak first. 

"You have not changed at all," Caesar challenged. 

"You have changed a lot. You look much older." The affirmation was accompanied by another outburst of laughter from the shadowy figures, but a firm gesture of the Prince stopped it promptly. 

The Roman did not like being reminded of his age. But he swallowed it down, afraid that a few careless words might ruin everything. "I – I did not think you would come... after all this time..." 

Again, a faint smile. "The great Iulius Caesar, afraid of a young and feeble thing like me? Truly, Roman, what would your guards think if they saw you now?" 

He did not reply. He knew the Dark Prince was testing him. 

"Why have you wished to see me, Roman?" the creature asked him. 

For a moment, Caesar hesitated. He truly did not need to get the blood-drinker involved, did he? "This was a mistake," he whispered. 

"There was no mistake in your letter. You have asked for my help. And I honestly hope you have not made me come all this way for nothing. I do not like it when my time is wasted." 

There was something feral in the Prince's voice, something that made the General's heart stop for a few seconds. 

"Do you think we could discuss this problem alone?" he finally said. 

A faint nod, and a dismissive gesture that made the shadow figures dissipate. Deathly silence surrounded them now, and the shadow of Iupiter's statue dominated the room. 

"Tell me your worries, Roman," the Dark Prince prompted him. "I have offered you my advice before; you know you can trust me." 

He thought he could. That was why he had sent that message to Antioch in the first place. 

"It is more than advice this time, Tetiyus. I need your help with something." 

"I know," the blood-drinker replied in a calm voice. "You were desperate enough to ask for my involvement, so this must be really important to you." 

"I need you to kill a man," he confessed. 

The dark eyes narrowed. "Oh. And you are aware that there is a price for my kind's services, I suppose." 

"Anything," he promised. "But this is not going to be easy." 

Tetiyus' voice was still calm. "Tell me his name. Then I shall tell you what it will cost you." 

"The Persian General Atarx." 

The Dark Prince eyed him suspiciously. "So you are truly on your way to conquering Persia I have heard about this." 

"Can your people do it?" Caesar asked, hoping for a positive answer. 

"It is, indeed, a hard target." Tetiyus thought about it a few moments. "But I have always liked a challenge. Very well; he will be dead in less than two weeks." 

"And your price?" the Roman enquired. 

More silence. "A life for a life," he finally said. "Agreed?" 

Caesar clasped the stone-cold hand the Prince had extended to him. "Agreed." What was a life, compared to victory over the Persians? 


	2. Dark Shadows

**Dark Shadows**

The Persian camp was in celebration. It was the festival of Mithra, their supreme god, and even in a war camp there was no way to ignore this event. Especially since the God could get angry and abandon them in battle, at the mercy of the Roman legions marching their way. 

A few actors and musicians had been summoned to make this a real celebration; hundreds of other entertainers had come freely to join the festivities. The wide plain was filled with song and laughter, as the wine flowed freely among the men. 

General Atarx, the greatest fighter and military leader of Persia, was walking around in the company of his lieutenants, watching his soldiers celebrate. Unlike them, he was not in the mood for rejoicing. But he knew they had a hard campaign ahead, and wanted to allow his men one last feast before throwing them in the lion's claws. 

How he hated this eunuched Roman called Caesar! The West had not been enough for him – now he wanted the East as well. Just like the one that had claimed to be a god, that Sikander. They were never content with what they had, these beardless curs from the Mediterranean! 

Deep in thought, Atarx almost bumped into a couple of his men who were cheering loudly and shouting obscene comments at some poor dancer. He stopped for just a moment, getting a glimpse of dark hair and a lithe body caught in a somersault, landing catlike as the men cheered. Just another dancing boy – though this one looked vaguely familiar. He did not know what it was that first caught his eye – the boy's elegance as he moved, or his abandon to the music of a lonely lute as he danced on and on without repose. He knew this boy – he had seen him before at a feast in Susa. At the palace, no less! He remembered Prince Darius being quite interested in that specific dance. Atarx did not blame him; he had been quite turned on himself. 

Running his hand through his bushy black beard, he gave the boy another look over. Pale skin trapped in a long green tunic of strange design, graceful limbs moving easily on the frantic rhythm the music dictated to him, dark eyes hidden under even darker lashes, a small mouth curled in a little smile. Yes, he was a wonder, this boy... the general asked himself how come he had ended up so far away from Susa. Plenty enough nobles there to pay for his services, so why follow the army? 

The dance ended in even louder cheers as the boy bowed gracefully. Gold coins were thrown his way, perhaps more than one would offer a regular dancer. The lute player, a middle-aged man with blond hair that stood at least six feet tall, grinned at the large amount of coinage and patted the boy's dark head as he moved to collect their payment. 

Intrigued, the general ordered one of his lieutenants to fetch the boy to his tent. 

The boy came, but it was a few steps behind his companion. Atarx was annoyed, but he accepted their deep bows and gestured for his lieutenants to move aside. He noticed the longing look in the boy's deep dark eyes as they met his own; he could not say if it was directed at him, but he frankly did not give a damn. What he did care about was to get the boy for himself that night. If this was a festival, why shouldn't he be celebrating as well? 

General Atarx had a weakness for beautiful, but defenceless children. Nothing pleased him more than having such a fragile beauty at his complete disposal, to do whatever he pleased with it. Of the concept that the weak were meant to serve the strong, he enjoyed using them and breaking them. And this dancing boy, one that had been admired even by the Prince of Persia, was the perfect picture of frailty and submission. 

"What is your name, beautiful?" he asked smoothly. 

The dancer did not answer, but dropped to the ground submissively, and kept his eyes downcast. The blond man bowed again, with a sycophancy Atarx had rarely seen, and replied "I beg your forgiveness, my lord, but the boy cannot answer. He is mute." 

"Oh, I see. And you are...?" the Persian questioned the boy's companion, giving him a hard look. He was truly annoyed when someone came between him and the object of his desire. 

"I am Geritrix, from Gaul, your greatness. This boy is my sister's son." 

The general wondered if this man thought him stupid. There was absolutely no resemblance between the two. The Gaul brute could not even hold a candle to the boy's magnificence. However, one thing stopped him from having the man killed – he remembered his greed for gold. With the dancer working for him, the man would be just as well off as any other rich merchant in Persia, and nobody would ask where the money had come from. Therefore, if Atarx would use his position and add an appropriate sum of money, the Gaul would not be able to refuse his request. 

Smiling maliciously at Geritrix – or whatever the man's name was – he said, "I see. And tell me, how much would it take to persuade your ‘nephew' to offer me a private dance tonight?" 

The man merely smiled frigidly, "He has much to offer, my lord general. Do you have any desire in particular?" 

* * *

When all but one lamp had been extinguished and the servants had left the tent, General Atarx settled himself in a comfortable chair, gesturing for the boy to begin. With elegant steps, the dancing boy moved between his watcher's chosen position and the low bed in the back of the tent. He bowed and took off his long tunic, which left him clad in a semi-transparent loincloth, pale skin clearly visible in the darkness. He began the dance. 

The boy's movements were more seductive than they had ever been. He was like a butterfly dancing in the warm light of the sun, on a secret music only he could hear. His body glided and turned gracefully, each movement becoming more erotic in nature. The General felt his manhood swelling. He was sweating, and breathing heavily, trying to maintain some control. He recalled tales about Sikander's eunuch dancer, Bagoas – it was said that the boy had been an incredibly sensual creature. But Atarx doubted that, were he to choose between Bagoas and this boy, he would not make the same choice. 

The boy smiled, winked at him, and intensified his gestures. Such elegance and coordination, and Atarx found he understood the meaning of the movements, all that the body tried to express. There was a hidden meaning in any minimal gesture, and the General Atarx was turned on even more. It was a hunt, and the boy was the prey trying to escape his pursuer, trying to hide from his ultimate fate. 

With one last powerful stride, the boy stretched his body and then fell to the ground, in a mock of surrender and obedience to his captor's will. His dark eyes fixed the general, waiting for his reaction, desiring to know whether he should continue or not. 

The General gestured towards the bed. He wanted all the boy had to offer, and perhaps even more. A malicious thought crossed his mind, as he saw the young man crawl towards the bed like a feline, and stretching his body languidly on the covers and pillows. One arm above his head, hair splayed around him in a dark crown, his left leg bent. The boy's slender hand travelled over the naked torso, caressing the soft skin and erect nipples. He moaned softly, and the general's lust grew. 

The long fingers went lower down now, and as the boy stroke himself through the loincloth, there was a fire in him that was finally allowed to burn. His movements on the bed, as he satisfied himself, were even more beckoning, and the disarticulate moans of pleasure managed to break through every control the voyeuristic general might have held over his body. He had to take this boy, and possess him in the cruellest of manners, for there was no other way out of this. 

Atarx rose from the chair and threw himself at the dancer, grasping slender wrists painfully in his large hands and pinning them above the boy's head, his mind clouding with lust as the boy's struggles to break free intensified his desire. 

The boy began trashing under the general and tried to cry out, but he did not have the voice to do it. Atarx kept his wrists clasped tightly in his left hand while he slapped the boy hard with his right. He forced his mouth on the boy's, brutally crushing the fine soft lips. His free hand now caught hold of the boy's genitals, and he squeezed tight. The dancer's body tensed, his eyes wide and filled with horror and panic. Again he tried to shout, but the sound came out as a barely-audible sob. The elderly man laughed, and groped tighter. The slim body began to tremble, but the boy seemed to refuse to let any tears escape his eyes. 

The burly man ripped away the loincloth and freed his own erection from the confines of the loose trousers, not bothering to remove the rest of his clothing. He rubbed his throbbing hardness against a pale thigh, groaning cruelly at the contact with the boy's chill flesh, clear liquid already trickling from the head of his cock. He barely registered that the dancer's flesh lacked the usual heat, that his skin was smoother and paler than anything the general had touched or seen. All he cared about at that moment was being inside the boy's body as soon as humanly possible. 

The Persian general forced his captive's legs apart with his knees, then keeping his hold on the slim hands he grabbed a frail ankle and spread the lithe legs even more, exposing the boy's anus. Atarx positioned himself and pressed hard against the boy's opening, his engorged flesh entering the tense muscles painfully without the presence of any lubrication save the man's precum. 

The dancing boy's body arched, and the general knew it must have really hurt by the boy's silent scream and the fear sweeping across the elegant features. Even now he could feel the added wetness of his victim's blood coating his cock as he slammed repeatedly into the small, lean body, until he was fully buried inside the boy. 

He began his strokes, and the boy started thrashing around more. Freeing the boy's hands, he grabbed his calves and forced them high against his sides, seeking wider entrance. He held them there as tight as he could, not caring if he bruised the fine skin. He barely felt the fists that hit his upper arms, the hits growing weaker as Atarx increased his tempo, to finally fall motionless on the mattress. All he cared for was to possess this boy, to have what he wanted, no matter if the dancer might not make it out of this alive. 

He intensified his movements, satisfying his lust with such energy he had never thought to possess. He let go of the boy's arms, and used his hands to spread the long legs further apart, to gain better entrance. The boy's body went limp, his face on one side, his spirit away from his body. It seemed he had finally given up the fight. 

General Atarx felt the force of his release build, and he exploded inside the boy. He let himself fall atop the molested body, not caring that his weight might be crushing the boy. He panted heavily in the rich black hair, gratified by the experience. He had not thought he would take so much pleasure that night, not at all... 

Unexpectedly, Atarx felt a strong grip on the back of his neck, pushing his head aside violently as he was shoved away from the dancer and pushed into the mattress. It took him a few moments to recover, and tried a defensive move as soon as he recovered from the shock of being intruded on so shamelessly. However, a sudden weight on his chest and lower body prevented him from moving, just as his hands were gathered in front of him in a grip that was too strong, much too strong to be considered natural. The hand on the back of his neck did not retreat, but instead tightened so he was forced to look straight up at his attacker, all thoughts of pleasure forgotten. 

A pair of eyes watched him, glowing red in their owner's pale face. Soft lips, still bruised but healing under Atarx's eyes, twisted in a cruel smile as a laughter escaped them, throaty and rather evil. The general's head was forced on one side with the same supernatural strength, and dark hair pooled down as two vicious fangs penetrated Atarx's throat. 

The general struggled to break free, but in vain; his captor only increased the pressure on the back of Atarx's head and forced it further on the side, cutting out Atarx's voice. The creature started sucking violently at his neck with a deep groan. 

Atarx's life was being drained out of him in a mad rush of blood; but it stopped suddenly. The general's body was released and thrown on the bed without any regard. All the general's senses had left or were leaving him. He tried to speak but all that came out was a guttered and inarticulate sound. His sight was glazing over – but he still saw the boy bending over him, licking his blood-stained lips and smiling wickedly. A fall of black hair enveloped the general as a whisper reached his fading hearing, doubled by a powerful voice in his mind that obliterated all his thoughts. "One should never underestimate the weak, my dear general. It could make the difference between life and death." 

The boy let a few drops of his own blood fall over the bite marks, and then arranged Atarx on the bed, tearing off the man's expensive clothing in an act of defiance. He cleaned himself off all semen and blood with a silk sheet, and donned his long tunic again. He looked around, and picked up the general's cloak, which he folded around his body carefully. Then, he raised the tent's cloth in the back, and stealthily left, letting Atarx lie there, unable to call for help, his soul slowly leaving his body. 

* * *

Not hearing any movement from more than half an hour, one of the Persian captains began to worry. General Atarx had never been a silent man. Something was very, very wrong. 

Slowly, lest he would disturb any activity and his commander would have him flogged afterwards, he gathered enough courage to take a peek through the tent's curtains. As his eyes slowly grew accustomed to the darkness within, he made out the General's form, laying flat on his back on the low bed. There was no sign of the dancing boy anywhere. 

"General?" he cautiously whispered. No answer came. "Lord Atarx?" he tried once more, again with no result. 

Now genuinely worried, the captain entered the tent, and hurried at his commander's side. He crouched near the naked body and grabbed the General's shoulder, shaking him. The flesh was cold under his touch, and two glassy orbs met his eyes in a ghastly tableau, terror marking the man's frozen face. There was no pulse. 

The captain's blood went cold. 

"Guards!" he shouted. " _Guards_!", as if there was anything they could do. When the soldiers arrived, they were met by the same view. In the light of the torches, the pallor of death on the man's face, his terrified features and eyes fixing the canopy, hands splayed so that the body formed a cross, all seemed like a picture taken from the old folktales. 

"Treason!" the Persian captain growled. "Find that bastard boy and his uncle! I shall rip them both apart with my bare hands!" 

But, no matter how hard they searched the camp and the surrounding area, there was no sign of anybody. The two had disappeared into thin air, just as they had appeared earlier that night. Nobody knew who they were, or where they had gone. 

And with General Atarx now dead, there would be no stopping the Roman legions of Caesar as they cut their way towards the city of Susa. 

* * *

On a hilltop not two miles away, the Dark Prince laughed. His predator eyes easily caught all the frantic movement in the Persian camp, and he knew his part of the bargain had been accomplished. It was now time to claim his reward from the Roman. 

Behind him, the Gaul blood-drinker that had accompanied him stood proudly, his cobalt-blue eyes fixed on Tetiyus. "Master," he asked respectfully, "shall we go now? It is nearly dawn." 

"Of course, my trusty lieutenant," Tetiyus said, "of course. You must hunger, too. Return to the city; there is something else I have to take care of, alone." He gathered the folds of the long cloak around his thin body, and looked at his companion's face. "May your feast be as glorious as mine has been." 

The tall man bowed and left swiftly, loosing himself in the night. With an evil laughter, Tetiyus rose to the sky, making his way toward the Roman camp. 

* * *

Caius Iulius Caesar lounged on a divan, reading a scroll that had just been delivered to him; it confirmed the fact that General Atarx had been murdered the night before, and he savoured the news with an almost sadistic pleasure. There apparently was no trail of the general's murderer. 

The Roman smiled. A dancing boy... The Dark Prince was, indeed, very resourceful, and it seemed his subjects truly were everywhere. 

"Is your victory assured now?" 

He sprung up, sword tightly in hand, and turned towards the one that had said those words. He had been alone in his tent for quite a while now, and no human could have gotten past the guards. 

But the cloaked figure was not human, was it now? He removed his hood, and looked back at the Roman through narrowed eyes, his wicked smile curling his lips. There was nothing angelic about him at that moment. 

Caesar sighed and lowered the sword. "Are you always this silent when you sneak into an enclosed space?" 

Tetiyus shrugged. "There is no fun otherwise." 

The Roman took the scroll he had been reading and offered it to the blood drinker. A slender hand stopped his motion, claret-painted fingernails glittering in the torchlight – Tetiyus already knew what the content revealed. 

"I wish to thank you, my friend," the General said, filling cup of wine for himself. He offered none to his guest, knowing he would be refused. "Your clever assassin has made things quite easy for me. Nobody would have suspected a dancing boy." 

The Prince smiled, and there was a secret behind his calm façade that could not be guessed easily. "It was a pleasurable feast. We have perfected the art of killing, Roman. Keep that in mind, in case you wish to break the deal we have made." 

"But of course not," the Roman said. "Name the one you want dead, and it shall be done." 

Tetiyus shook his head. "Had I wanted him dead, it would have already been done. I want him _to live_." 

The Roman stared at the blood-drinker. "You want me to spare the life of one of my enemies, then?" It was an easy thing – he had done it hundreds of time before. 

The Dark Prince nodded, pulling out a piece of papyrus from the folds of his cloak. "This is his name. I so happen to know you really want this man dead, Iulius Caesar. So make sure he lives, if you wish that you and your legions return safely to Rome." 

Caesar opened it and read it. Hatred crossed his face, but he had no choice. If this was the price he had to pay for the conquest of Persia, so be it. It was not going to be easy, but it would be done. 

Nevertheless he was curious of the reason behind this most unusual request. He looked again up. "Why do you want...?" 

But the Dark Prince was gone. 


	3. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The pale full moon ruled over the darkness, and the city of Susa was asleep under its spell. Prince Darius stood alone on his bedroom's balcony, dressed in robes that would protect his well-built body from the faint chill of the night. He looked at the star-filled sky, and sighed deeply. He would have to leave soon, to take command of the Persian Army. His father had insisted that he take General Atarx's place, after the latter had been murdered in his own tent. By evil spirits, all had said. 

One week since he had last seen his lover. One week without looking into those beautiful eyes, without touching the silken hair, without the comfort of feeling somebody cared – _really cared_ – for him. He had awakened to find his bed cold once more, and nightmares plagued his sleep. Dreams of his lover, dressed into the golden robes of an age long gone, lying dead in a stone sarcophagus. Dreams of his lover crying tears of blood. 

"Will you come to me tonight?" he whispered into the wind. "Or have you forgotten me already?" 

Darius placed his hands on the cold marble balustrade, and leaned forward bending his head. Hot tears fell down his cheek and on the back of his hands, the moonlight reflecting them like tiny diamonds. The Prince let out an anguished sob. "Why have you left me? Why won't you answer?" he murmured. 

The feel of a small warm hand caressing his back gently, as an arm circled his waist. The young man leaned over his back to whisper seductively in his ear, "The wind has answered your prayers tonight, beloved." 

Darius' hands tightened on the marble, the brownish skin blanching visibly. Was _he_ truly there? The body leaning over his was warm, so different from the faint chill he was accustomed to by now. But the touch was the same, feather-light and elusive, and the voice... 

He turned into the embrace, and looked down at the shorter man. Long dark hair, wondrous eyes, and the ivory skin of the ancient Persians. He cupped the lovely face between his own darker hand caressing the silken lips with his thumb, and the young man smiled mysteriously. 

"Are you really here?" Darius asked, not sure if his eyes were not fooling him. 

"I am sorry it took this long. I was delayed," came the silent reply. 

The Prince bent his head to kiss the warm mouth. But he pulled back, catching a foreign scent and taste on it. He stiffened, and he looked questioningly at his lover. "You have been with another," he accused. He felt betrayed. 

Again, the faint smile warmed the youth's face. "I do what I am required to do, in order to survive." 

Darius frowned. "Why won't you let me help you? Tell me who is forcing you to do this. They will never bother you again!" 

Midnight eyes met his, and the younger man shook his head lightly. "I always come back to you," he replied, as he touched his right palm to the Prince of Persia's chest. "Always. You are my lover, and there is no place for another in my heart." For a second, he looked so remote from that place, like a marble statue on a marble balcony. 

"But why won't you let me make love to you, then?" Darius protested. "They feel nothing for you. Why won't you let me show you how different it can be, how much _I_ feel?" 

Five long fingers pressed his mouth shut. "Don't!" the young man said softly. "Don't ask me to do this with you." He sighed, and his dark eyes looked straight into the prince's green orbs. He seemed determined and proud, and very much in command, no longer the lost boy Darius had held in his arms every night for the past two months. Still, there was so much sadness in his lover, as he spoke. And Darius nearly did not believe the words that came out, though the young man had never lied to him. 

"All the people I sleep with die. None of them survives. Do you understand? You cannot ask for this. You cannot ask me to kill you." 

The pale fingers trembled, and the boyish face looked down, ashamed perhaps of the confession he had just made. Yet the hand on Darius' chest kept the contact between their bodies. 

Prince Darius gathered the lithe frame to him, wrapping his arms protectively around his lover. The boy's head nestled in his strong shoulder, and he too wrapped an arm around the taller man's waist, tightening the embrace. They held each other in the night, and Darius buried his face in the soft hair, whispering, "I don't want to lose you. I love you, Tetiyus." 

* * *

Hidden in the warm wool of Darius' robes, the Dark Prince's lips curled into a tender smile. "As do I, beloved. As do I." 

* * *

**~ The End ~**  


* * *


End file.
